


Make Me

by dragonspell



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Being Walked In On, Bottom Leonard Snart, Counter Sex, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top Mick Rory, len in a skirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7330342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Give that back,” Mick says.  Len grips the edge of the pretend candy bar between his teeth and that innocent look isn’t fooling anybody.  Mick’s seen Len use that look on cops while he steals their badges right off their chests. Mick has always been generous with his food, letting Len eat off his plate because despite the man’s height, he hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive, but <i>damn it</i>, they are on a space ship.  Things are <i>limited</i>.  Mick hasn’t taken a shower in a week.  He holds out his hand and narrows his eyes.  “Give it back.”</p><p>And Mick’s breath catches in his throat as a look crosses Len’s face that Mick had doubted that he’d ever see again.  That he’d ever deserve to see again.  It’s the smile that lights up Len’s face, deliciously wicked and inviting.  The kind that he’s always saved just for Mick.  “Make me,” Len purrs.</p><p>(Or, Mick and Len have sex in the Waverider's galley.  Mick POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> Set vaguely between Mick coming back and the Legends heading for the Vanishing Point.

If Mick had ever dedicated the time and brainpower to think about it, he would have pictured the future a lot differently. There’d still be the cool flying piles of scrap and the ray guns like Hunter carries around, but furniture would be more comfortable and the food would definitely be better.

He should have known, though. Should have looked at the current trends in 2016, the way the world was going, and been able to extrapolate it all the fuck out. Fucking sugarless, gluten-free, vegan freaks. What right did they have to fuck food up for the rest of the world?

Mick loves food. Loves eating it, loves making it. He must have really pissed somebody off in a past life because he’s now stranded in a tasteless hellhole of manufactured protein bars and vitamin supplements. It’s torture. There isn’t a damn thing onboard that Mick can enjoy eating.

Except for the red snack bars. They’re passable.

Mick doesn’t know what is in the red ones, but they are the only things really worth a shit on the Waverider. They have a texture similar to a Milky Way and if Mick closes his eyes and thinks about it, he can almost pretend that he’s eating one. Consequently, they are the only things that he bothers with anymore. If his stint as Chronos has taught him anything, it’s that life is too unpredictable and short to waste it eating bad food. 

That and sheer rage can protect against brainwashing, but, really, Mick gets more use out of the food thing.

Gideon makes an assortment of similar looking, vaguely edible snack foods, ranging from brown to beige and each one is as bland as the color. Mick always throws them in the garbage where they belong. The computer doesn’t seem to mind when he does, but he has noticed that it had quickly started producing only the red ones when he asked for something to eat. 

Like the one that Len is grabbing up and pulling the wrapper off of—the last one of the most recent batch. Mick can always have the computer make more, but that isn’t the point. Len probably isn’t even going to eat the thing. Just nibble on it like a rabbit and then throw it away like he does most of his food.

“Hey,” Mick says. “Give that back.”

Len grips the edge of the pretend candy bar between his teeth. “Hmm?” That innocent look isn’t fooling anybody. Mick’s seen Len use that look on cops while he steals their badges right off their chests.

Mick points at the bar. “I was going to eat that.”

“And now I’m eating it,” Len replies, a smug smirk breaking through the fake innocence.

Mick has always been generous with his food, letting Len eat off his plate because despite the man’s height, he hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive, but _damn it_ , they are on a space ship. Things are _limited_. Mick hasn’t taken a shower in a week. He holds out his hand and narrows his eyes. “Give it back.”

And Mick’s breath catches in his throat as a look crosses Len’s face that Mick had doubted that he’d ever see again. That he’d ever deserve to see again. It’s the smile that lights up Len’s face, deliciously wicked and inviting. The kind that he’s always saved just for Mick. “Make me,” Len purrs.

Like hell Mick can resist that challenge. He’d never been able to back home when Len had given him that look all the time and out here in the cold reaches of space, faced with all of his past mistakes and failings, Mick is like a starving man in the desert. “Oh, I will,” he promises. He lunges for Len, knocking a stool out of the way.

Predictably, he comes up empty handed, with Len dancing away, putting the counter between them. Len takes a nibble of the bar and grins. Mick lunges again and Len evades with a chuckle. This time, though, he stays on the same side of the counter, not too far out of Mick’s reach and Mick’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. Len wants this. Len wants _Mick_. 

Screw the fake candy bar, Mick thinks. Len can have it, just as long as Mick can get his hands on Len.

Mick takes a step back and Len follows, keeping the same distance between them, not letting Mick get too far away. Like a snake, Mick lashes out, catches Len’s shirt sleeve and grips it tightly in his fist, using the hold to bring Len in. Len can still escape. He’d just have to get a little cold, that’s all.

Len’s red hot, though, as he laughs low in his chest and steps willingly into Mick’s space, lets Mick lean him against the counter. His eyes briefly hold Mick’s before he drops them down to watch his hands run over Mick’s shoulders, fingers reacquainting themselves. Len’s always had a thing for Mick’s shoulders. Mick’s never exactly minded. 

Mick doesn’t have the patience to let Len explore, though. He surges forward and catches Len in a kiss, lips pressing together. He’s startled by how familiar it all feels, like he never left, like there’d never been any bad blood between them. Len wraps his arms around Mick, one hand gripping the back of Mick’s head and somehow Mick’s been forgiven.

He lifts Len up and sets him on the counter, Len gasping at the show of strength before returning to the kiss, his lips demanding everything from Mick. It feels like a dream that Len is letting him do this, letting him be this close again. What he did, what he’d said that he’d do, it’s nothing less than a miracle of Len to let him in again. Mick licks his way across Len’s mouth, then tilts his head to kiss down Len’s neck while Len pants against him. Mick grips Len’s solid frame, fingers digging into the muscle.

Len’s wearing one of those damnable skirts that he likes so much. He calls them kilts but Mick’s always called them a tease because he can’t get over how they slide over Len’s thighs. It’s always got him hot. He likes it even better when Len doesn’t wear pants underneath, Len just one quick skirt flip away from being on display.

“Get up here,” Len murmurs. He gets a firm grip on the front of Mick’s shirt and pulls him forward. Mick follows the direction willingly, climbing on top of the counter and pushing Len’s skirt to puddle at his crotch. Len’s still fully clothed down below, but somehow it feels like he’s not, like Mick’s getting a peek at Len’s naked dick under the pleated ridge of dark fabric. Mick’s going to blow just thinking about. He needs to get Len’s clothes off.

Mick takes a deep breath and slides his hands up Len’s chest, pushing Len’s shirt up to his armpits, and kisses the revealed skin. Len gasps and squirms, his hands yanking on Mick’s henley as he tries to urge Mick’s mouth to go higher. “Up,” he mutters. “Up, damn it.”

Mick knows what Len wants; it’s the same thing that Mick does, but Mick’s not above teasing. “You want something?” Mick asks. Len swears at him and Mick chuckles. He pushes himself upward to put his tongue back into Len’s mouth, unable to resist the tempting target and wanting to remind himself of the taste. Len moans and clutches at him, and then shoves him away. 

“Come on, Mick,” Len huffs. His leg curls up and slips over Mick’s back, skirt slipping a little more. “Do it.” His back’s already arching in anticipation and no one’s ever accused Mick of being overly patient. He leans back down and gives Len’s right nipple a soft flick with his tongue. Len’s voice turns into a soft, shuddery thing that sends a shiver down Mick’s spine. Mick swirls his tongue, laving the small bud, before he gives it a quick suck and Len shamelessly grinds himself against Mick’s thigh. 

His mouth still teasing the one, Mick thumbs at Len’s other nipple, flipping it from side to side. Len’s hand skates up Mick’s arm, strong fingers digging in, while his other clamps onto the back of Mick’s head in an effort to keep Mick’s mouth on him.

As if Mick had plans on going anywhere. Mick hollows his cheeks again and has to reach down to adjust himself. It’s always been tough to say which one of them enjoys this more. Len loves having his nipples played with and Mick loves doing it. Mick sucks and licks and bites, making Len arch and moan and lose his mind, before he can’t take it anymore. He breaks away and gives Len’s neck a soft bite to bring them both back down for a quick second. “Can I, Len?” Mick asks, needing an answer more than he needs to keep breathing. “Can I?”

Len nods, his hands already delving under his kilt to work at his zipper, and all of Mick’s blood rushes south. 

“Mr. Rory!” a voice screeches behind them. Len jerks to the side, peering out around Mick and the voice ratchets up another octave. “Mr. _Snart_! What _are_ you doing?”

“I think that should be obvious, _Rip_ ,” Len drawls.

“Fuck off, Hunter,” Mick growls, not bothering to turn around. He palms Len’s denim-clad dick under his skirt and Len pushes into the touch appreciatively.

Hunter sputters. There’s probably a few words in there, but nothing that Mick can understand. Hunter’s little more than a mosquito buzzing at this point. Mick slides his hands up to pinch both of Len’s nipples, wanting to see how much noise Len’s willing to make in front of Hunter. Turns out, it’s quite a lot, because Len’s moan is damn obscene. Mick throbs in his jeans. Cripes. A few more sounds like that and Mick won’t even make it to the main event. 

“Hey,” Mick says over his shoulder, “you got anything you'd recommend as lube?"

“You! I...” Words are not Hunter’s strong point right now.

Gideon helpfully chimes in, because if nothing else, the computer loves to provide information. “While not ideal, I believe that the oil to your right would suit your purposes, Mr. Rory.”

“Gideon!” Rip screeches.

Len cracks up, his laughter ringing out through the galley. “Thank you, Gideon.”

“You are most welcome,” Gideon replies and Hunter stutters in betrayal.

“My own ship!” Hunter wails. “My own ship has turned against me! And this is a dining area! Not a, not a—”

“Variety is the spice of life, Rip,” Len replies and pushes his hands down the back of Mick’s jeans to grab his ass. Mick grunts, thrusting forward to grind himself against Len.

“Rest assured that this will not be forgotten!” Hunter blusters before bravely running away.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mick mutters. He slides his fingers over Len’s stomach, following the dips and lines of muscle and scar tissue. He loves Len’s body. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

“Think we scandalized poor old Rip,” Len says, a smile stretching across his face.

Mick rumbles in agreement and tugs at Len’s pants. He can leave the skirt on. “Can fuck in his office next if you want.” 

Len laughs again. It could be the prettiest thing that Mick’s ever heard. Mick shifts to pull Len’s pants down his legs before he hits the conundrum of Len’s boots. “Shit,” Mick growls.

“Here,” Len offers and slips out from under Mick to slide off the counter on the other side. He crooks a finger at Mick. “Bring the oil.”

Len’s pants puddle around his boots, restricting his movements, but his legs are spread enough for Mick to get between them. Mick shakes the hem of Len’s skirt, watching it swish over Len’s bare skin until Len groans and drags the thing up to bare his ass. Mick’s torn on which view he likes better. “Come on, Mick.”

Like before, Mick knows what Len wants. He wants the same thing—but he wants a whole lot of other stuff, too. Mick drops to his knees and shoves his face between Len’s legs, using his hands to hold Len open as he licks at his hole. Len gasps, a hand reaching back to fumble over Mick’s shoulder, grabbing at his shirt. Mick licks around the rim before he delves inside and makes Len’s legs shake.

This right here, Mick could do this all day. He loves how Len trembles and how his soft little moans break and stutter at each little slip of Mick’s tongue, how he pushes back against Mick like he’s greedy for more. Mick used to dream about this, back when the Time Masters had him wearing that metal suit. He’d dreamed about holding Len down and licking him open until he came all over himself. As angry as he was at Len, he still wanted this.

Mick slips a hand under Len’s skirt to stroke his cock, finding it hard and aching for Mick’s touch. It pulses under Mick’s fingers, slick leaking from the tip. Len groans into the countertop and bats him away. “No,” he says.

Mick pauses, wondering if he misunderstood. “No?”

Len bucks his hips, skirt swaying against his hard cock. “Fuck me,” he whispers, stretching his arms out along the counter. “Fuck me, Mick.”

Mick scrambles to his feet. 

The oil’s slick against his fingers and lets him slide easily into Len, a little precursory stretching that Len welcomes with a sigh and a wiggle of his hips. “Not fair, Lenny,” Mick mutters, studying how his fingers slip in and out of Len. It’s been literal years for him and all this teasing is going to give him a heart attack. He pushes gently against Len’s prostate and Len’s hands squeak against the counter.

“ _Mick_ ,” Len hisses.

Mick wipes his fingers on his cock, slicking it, then grabs Len’s hips to hold him still. The first push against Len’s loosened hole makes them both groan and Mick finds that his patience is gone. He tries to be gentle, but he knows that it’s a lost cause as he buries himself in Len’s heat. Thankfully, Len doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah,” Len whispers, quick and short in between breaths. “Yeah, Mick.” A groan rumbles through Mick’s chest and he plasters himself to Len’s back, thrusting and already half-way gone. His hands skitter along Len’s bare skin, over his hanging skirt, and down his thighs before Len catches one and drags it back up to his chest. Mick buries his face against Len’s back and lets his fingers pinch and play like Len wants. 

Len whines and tosses his head, his hips moving in time with Mick’s, fucking himself on Mick’s cock. Mick growls encouragements into Len’s skin as he slams into him from behind, telling him how much he likes it, how hot Len is, how hard he’s going to come. Len spasms around Mick’s cock as he orgasms, come hitting the floor and the side of the counter.

“God, yeah,” Mick says and shudders into his own climax, thrusting deep into the slick heat of Len’s ass.

The counter’s the only thing keeping them upright as they pant on top of it. Mick nuzzles at the back of Len’s neck, feeling affectionate as his body basks in the residual pleasure. Len laughs shakily. “Don’t think my legs are working,” he admits.

Mick likes the sound of that. He rumbles softly and runs his hands down Len’s trembling, skirt-covered thighs. Len hums in appreciation.

“You still want this?” Len asks and Mick thinks that’s a damn stupid question to ask. Even as brain-damaged Chronos, he’d still wanted Len. He hasn’t stopped wanting him since the day he met him.

“Yeah,” Mick says, because it’s the only answer he’s got. Confusingly, though, Len hands him one of Gideon’s deceptive snacks—one of the red ones, so not a total waste. “Oh,” he says, taking it as understanding dawns. Right. “That, too, I suppose.”

Len twists in his grip, moving away and letting Mick’s cock slip out of him. He braces himself against the counter and huffs as he shakily reaches down to pull at the laces of his boots. Len loosens them up just enough to toe the boots off, then picks them up and slings an arm behind Mick’s shoulder. His pants slide to the ground. With his shirt still rucked up, it’s possibly the most naked that Mick’s ever seen Len in public. Damn distracting. “I’m going to need you to carry me, Mick,” Len says.

Len’s not exactly a lightweight, but Mick’s always been game for hauling him around. Mick slips his hands down under Len’s ass, fingers rubbing against the fabric of Len’s skirt. “Where?”

“To my room,” Len answers, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’ll bring the oil.”

Mick grins. “Now that sounds like a plan.” He heaves Len upward and Len helpfully wraps his legs around Mick’s waist.

“Yeah, I thought so too.” Len’s smile is the same one that Mick remembers from his dreams. His heart skips a beat. It better be a long time before anybody comes looking for them, Mick thinks, because if this works out like he hopes it will, neither of them are going to be able to walk anytime soon.

It's the future, in some unknown year, some unknown place, but Mick feels like he's home.


End file.
